Rats, Why Did It Have To Be Rats?
by smalld1171
Summary: Dean hates rats, so how will he react when the place is crawling with them? Just some fun. I hope any who read will enjoy. *Final Chapter Up!*
1. Chapter 1

**Hi there! I have had a stressful couple of days so I had to write something totally off the wall and silly. I hope you enjoy! I own nothing!**

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><p>He stares at the rundown building through his windshield and curses to himself. He hates the outdoors. He hates old buildings. He hates barns. They're weird. Sure, old houses, well the old houses that contain ghosts anyways, always seem to have cellars; which always seem to have sealer jars; which always seem to hold some kind of scientific experiment gone wrong. But a freakin barn? Smells like shit. Looks like hell. And they are always in there, skittering around, and the thought makes his damn skin crawl. The thing about barns is… they always have them. Rats. He hates rats.<p>

"Dean? You okay man?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, right, of course. I'm fine bro, just wondering how this place never made onto the cover of Homes and Gardens."

He sees the crinkle in Sam's forehead.

"What Sam?"

"Nothing. Just, you know about Homes and Gardens? Any other secret lives you'd like to fill me in on?"

"Shut up. Ready to go dude, we don't have all day. Sun's not gonna be up much longer and I'd like to find something to ice this farmer from Hell before he decides to make a barn-call. Get it? Barn call?"

"Yup, you're fine."

They stop in front of the dilapidated barn and only then does he realize the place is fricken huge. Perfect, more ground to cover and more chances to run into the wildlife. He shivers at the thought of running into one of those damn bastards.

His eyes scan the immediate area. He thinks he can hear a rustle through the overgrown brush and mutters something Sam can't quite hear. He starts to feel the unmistakable twinge of panic, or maybe fear, tie a damn knot in his stomach so tight that he has to close his eyes to get control of it. He's faced monsters and demons and Heaven and Hell and still, after all of that, those filthy, four legged bastards can still make his skin crawl and his stomach turn. Suck it up man.

"Uh, Dean? We going in or what man?"

"Yeah Sammy, just hold your horses a minute. You don't wanna go barging in without a quick look to make sure the coast is clear."

"Clear from your furry little friends you mean? C'mon Dean, I know you have a fear of those things but really, what's the big deal, they're no match for you. You got your gun right? Should be able to blow them away pretty easy if they make a run at you."

He definitely hears a chuckle from his brother next.

"You're hilarious you know that. I'm not scared of them, I just don't like them. Hell, don't come crying to me if you're suddenly swarmed by vicious, hairy, slimy rodents!"

"Uh… slimy?"

"Whatever. Just don't be pretending to be one or I might get an itchy trigger finger and shoot your ass."

"Alright, alright. Sheesh, touchy. Good thing you don't have a fear of rodents or anything."

"Whatever."

He pushes the door open and it fills the stale air with a typical horror movie creak and is cast in an eerie glow from the fading sunlight, as it streams in through the crumbling wood walls.

"Let's just get this over with. I mean, a freakin' barn? Can't these fuglies ever hang out in a nice hotel or somethin'?"

"Dude, we spend most of our time in a graveyard and you are spooked by a barn?

"They're just creepy man, I have my reasons." He hears another skitter along one of the walls inside and flinches in response. "I'll check the loft, you check down here."

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You know they can climb right? You won't be safe up there… maybe you want to hang out in the car and let me take care of this one?"

He shakes his head, he can't believe he seriously considered that suggestion for a second.

"Nah, someone's gotta watch your back in case an evil clown jumps out of that haystack over there."

"Smart ass."

"Did you hear that? Was that a honk?"

"Very funny."

He smiles as he sees his brother actually eye the haystack suspiciously before he turns his back and starts to look through all the damn crap littered throughout the barn. He may have his thing with rats. But clowns? That is seriously messed up.

Shit, he doesn't even know for sure what the hell they're looking for. A haunted pitchfork maybe? Maybe they'll be lucky for a change and find the bastard's bones in plain sight. Yeah, right, that's gonna happen.

He starts his ascent up the ladder and it isn't until he reaches the top that he realizes he is several feet above the ground. He starts to eyeball everything; starts to dig his way through the hay and the debris and the filth of the damn place. He sighs, he just wants to get the hell out of this place.

"Anything Sam?"

His brother appears in view and shakes his head. "Not yet man but it has been only like five minutes. But, I did run in to some of your long tailed friends, they said they were looking for you. Hope you don't mind, I told them where you were so you'll probably have company soon!"

"Bite me!"

"Not me, but maybe…"

"Enough already! You've had your fun now just shove a sock in it and keep looking, there's got to be something keeping this asshole around."

Another smirk and Sam is gone again, and he can't help but feel unnerved as he stares at the empty space where his brother once stood.

He resumes the hunt for something, anything to get this hunt over with when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. It only lasts a second but he can feel a fine layer of sweat start to materialize on his brow. Damn it. More movement and in that moment he hates his brother. He was right. Those assholes can climb. Son of a bitch.

Hell no. Please be something else, please be something else. Shit. Is it wrong that he is actually hoping for a snake to come slithering out? No such luck. It isn't long before one of the damn things pokes its head out of the hay and stares at him with those beady little eyes. It sniffs the air to pinpoint the new scent. He gulps at the realization. It can smell him.

He doesn't move but keeps his gaze firmly affixed on his nemesis. And it's looking back. He swallows and lets out a deep breath. C'mon man, it's only one stupid douchebag rat. Pull yourself together, you need to do your damn job before dead farmer dude decides to kill some other unlucky sap.

"Get the hell out of here ratty before I waste your creepy little ass."

The rodent takes one step towards him and he will deny it later but he kind of loses his cool for a minute then. He starts cussing and flailing his arms but the damn thing won't budge. Okay then, Jerry, you asked for it. He grabs a piece of debris and flings the damn rat as far away from him as he can. He smiles, gives it the finger and feels pretty damn proud of himself.

"Dean? What the hell man?"

Pride and relief pour out of him as he notices the whole damn floor start to wake up. It's a sea of movement and he sure as hell doesn't want to stick around to see what he just woke up. He shimmies along the floor on his rear end and has to admit he is a pretty happy man when he reaches the ladder and his escape.

"Dean! Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah… coming down Sam, coming down. Can't stay up here. Too many, too many. Place is crawling with them man. All over the place."

He spares one glance down at his brother and Sam's eyes look up to him in concern. He sees his brother's gaze drift from him to the rippling floor and back to him again.

"I think you should come down now man. I swear, I'll never kid you about those things again. Just, c'mon, nice and slow. Okay? Dean?"

He doesn't need to hear it twice. And, if Sam has such a sound of worry in his voice he knows things just got serious. He stands slowly, almost sickened by the motion of the ground beneath him. He watches in horror as the straw that hid his worst nightmare slowly gives way and the beige colour is changed to a sickening brown. Eyes, ears, heads, claws and tails whip around in constant chaos; in a disjointed swirl of madness and then it happens. The first brush against his legs. And then he loses it. He starts kicking and swearing and thumping the ground to keep them at bay.

"Dean! Get the hell on the ladder! It's not stable up there! Stop jumping around like a lunatic and get your ass down here!"

One more thump and then he has a whole new set of problems to deal with. A creak, a shift, and then a shower of dust as the loft floor gives way and he, and all his new little friends, tumble down onto the dirt floor below.

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><p><strong>TBC... I'm thinking one more chapter. Let me know what you think if you wish. Thanks for stopping by.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi again and welcome back. I am thrilled at the response to this story so far so THANK YOU for all your wonderful comments, I can not tell you how much they mean to me and I will respond to each and every one of them shortly! Anywho, there will be another chapter yet to come. This one is kind of short but I hope you will still enjoy! :D**

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><p>He slams into the ground with such force that he can feel the air rush out of his lungs. He gasps in a shaky breath as his dazed brain tries desperately to figure out what the hell just happened. He blinks, and blinks again, as he tries to clear the blurriness that has so rudely interrupted his field of vision.<p>

He braces his hands on the floor and the feel of it seems off. He had expected concrete. Or dirt. But this feels like….straw? Okay, so maybe it could have been worse. The landing was still a bitch and maybe he ain't gonna walk away without a bruise or two, but the seemingly out of place formation of the softer substance may have saved him from breaking his damn back. Okay straw, we are definitely best friends as of this moment.

His brow crinkles slightly as he hears something off in the distance. He thinks it's his brother's voice. He thinks maybe he heard Sam yell out his name but it seems far away and muffled. It's being overridden by some weird kind of inhuman screech that seems to have cocooned around him and that rattles through his ears. Well shit, must have hit his head again. Peachy.

He flinches as something scurries across his hand. Wait. That's not good. There it is again. Maybe he ain't thinking all that clear but he knows for damn sure that it's a something he hates; a something that makes his skin crawl, literally, and suddenly makes that god awful noise make sense. His muddled mind clicks back into gear and he is thrust back into clarity. He remembers exactly what he was doing and how the hell he got to be here, lying on his back in a god damned barn.

His breath hitches and he feels his chest constrict as it dawns on him. Freakin' rats. He shudders. His brain tells him to move, to get away, but his body seems to have taken this exact moment to revolt and rebel against him. He closes his eyes tightly and wills himself to push off the ground to get the hell out of this 'When Wildlife Goes Bad' special.

He wants to move but his weakened body still hasn't gotten over the shock of his plummet to the floor. As he feels the sensation increase tenfold; as multiple bodies slide across his arms, legs and chest he starts to pant rapidly, too terrified to move one damn inch.

"Dean! You gotta move man, the rest…."

Sam. Right, Sam's here. Sam will get him out before he becomes some sort of fifty course meal for these creepy little bastards. Wait. The rest of what? Hell, it's like his brain is stuck in some kind of slow motion mode or something. And it pisses him off.

There is a split second from the moment Sam's words seem to register, to when he turns his head to look at his brother, who is doing a freaky mad dash to get to him, to the moment he hears an ominous creak and the moan of distressed wood filter down from the rafters above.

Son of a bitch.

He casts a quick glance to the roof above and can't do anything else but shield his head from the impact of the debris that starts to rain down on him.

That fricken hurt.

He can't see through the plume of dust that seems to encompass him. He tries to breathe but ends up coughing up a damn lung as that same dust filters its way into his body. But, because he is such a lucky guy, the one thing he can still do is hear.

And the only thing his ears can detect is the incessant whine of squeaks and squawks and damn screeches, all courtesy of those beady eyed bastards. Rats. Every fricken where. He hears their nails scramble and claw at the wood that surrounds them. It's almost deafening now. He can't think of anything else but damn, dirty rats.

He hates everything about them. The way they look. The way they sound. The way they feel.

Jesus, he can feel them on his skin. He can feel them tug at his hair and scalp. He can feel their feet on his flesh and their tails slink along his skin. He squirms underneath them but that only seems to heighten their frenzy. He swallows out of fear; out of panic, and out of the necessity to try to keep the bile that he can feel bubble up from his gut from barrelling out of him in rapid succession.

Sam better hurry the hell up and get him out of there because he is about two seconds away from taking his brother's suggestion to heart and capping each one of those furry pieces of shit in their damn ass.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks as always for stopping by! Feel free to let me know what you think! :)<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi there and thanks for coming back! This is a real short chapter but I just felt the need to write a little something about Dean and his rat adventure. Hope you enjoy and man, I am in love with Season 7 already! **

**I have been a bit tardy with my responses to all of your reviews but please know I appreciate each and every one and will get back to you, I promise!**

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><p>Okay, that's it, he's gonna be sick. Seriously. There is some ass using a jackhammer to try to get through his skull; he can feel the distinctive sensation and warmth of blood stick to his temple; an elephant has decided to sit on his damn chest, and he's sucked in so much dust that he should change his name to Hoover.<p>

He can feel every spot on his body where wood decided to use him as some fricked up, toothpick version of a pincushion, and to top up the ready to spew level, there seems to be some horny asswipe whispering a rat's intepretation of sweet nothings in his damn ear. Yup, definitely gonna hurl.

_"Dean? Dean! If you can hear me just hang on bro, have you out in a minute."_

Sam? He closes his eyes and tries to put the scrambled pieces back together. Right, Sam is out there, he thinks maybe he forgot about that. Huh, how could he forget that? Shit. Because a damn roof collapsed on him, that's why. Shit, this sucks major ass.

This has turned out to be a really weird day. Crap. He just wants to pass out already cuz there seems to be a second melody strumming through his ear now. So what, multiple rats trying to woo him? Okay, that's enough. He's tried to be nice, tried to ignore them and their obvious disregard for his strict personal space policy, but no more. Fine, have it your way you sons of bitches. Death by bullet it is.

Well damn it. His 'time to kick some rat butt' balloon instantly deflates into a pathetic crumple of latex as he tries to move his arm and all he manages to accomplish is wiggle a couple of fingers and get the rats' attention. He stills himself. Doesn't move. Hell, he isn't even sure if he's breathing. He just wants them to get the frick away from him. Aren't these vermin supposed to be able to fit through a hole the size of a damn quarter? Please, please find a way out.

_"Dean man, I'm still here, lots of stuff to move so just try and relax, won't be long now."_

Sure. What's there to get worked up about? He wonders how well Sammy would do if he was stuck, unable to move or damn well defend himself if he was overrun by those dudes with the painted faces. How well would he cope? He thinks he may have to arrange that once he can breathe rodent free air again.

Hurry the hell up Sam. Starting to flip out in here dude.

C'mon, they need to knock it off already. He wasn't really gonna shoot them, just wanted to scare them a little and take some comfort in the familiar grip of cool steel against his skin. God, he is definitely losing it, pleading in his mind to these damn abominations. Cripes, what's that syndrome called? Where the hostages start to sympathize with their captors? Rasmussen or munchkin or something? He is definitely starting to freak the hell out.

He tenses at the sensation of multiple feet skitter across the part of his chest not pinned down by debris. He wishes that his damn head was covered up too because that seems to be where they are going; they are massing, gravitating towards the same side as his secret admirer. Shit, that cannot be good.

He shakes his head to try to dislodge the group; he moves his body as much as he can to distract them from his damn head and swears at them in the loudest voice possible. He lets out a frustrated sigh. Figures, now they decide to ignore everything but his stupid head. Bastards.

"Relax Dean! I'm almost through!"

Sam is a damn, dirty liar. Nothing has changed. Elephant still firmly in place. Still can't see worth a shit. Still stuck in here.

"Fricken Hell! What…."

Okay, the flip out switch has just been flicked. He just felt… um… he just felt a… no God, please. Was that a god damn tongue? Are those bastards tasting him? Huh, well sure, why not, he is bleeding after all. Well, if he wasn't in panic mode before he sure as hell is now. The damn things are swarming around his head, all clamouring to get a taste.

Sam was right. He is scared of them, he does hate them. Hell, if Sam wants to gloat with an 'I told you so' then that's fine and he will agree until he is blue in the face, as long as it means he gets the hell out of here.

C'mon Sam, anytime now would be good. Please.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by! :D <strong>


	4. Final Chapter

**Hello and welcome back for the FINAL chapter of this ratty tale! Thank you all soooooo much for being so gracious with your reviews and for giving this little story a chance! I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate your enthusiasm! I hope you will enjoy the ending! Thanks again! :D**

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><p>Tongues, claws and teeth amass at his temple; searching for a rat's equivalent of buried treasure. Blood and gore. Kind of ironic really, blood and gore, that's what has swirled around him his whole stupid life and here he is, a mass of both those things, conveniently packaged like cotton candy on a damn stick. Freakin awesome.<p>

He twists his neck back and forth and side to side as he slips into the strange world of full blown panic, all the while trying to ignore the flashes of pain that jolt through his head like a strike of lightning.

He smirks slightly at the whimper he hears when he crashes his head into the ground and takes one of those filthy things with him. The rest of the 'herd' scatters down the wood, down his chest and who knows where else. It's a small, fleeting victory but he'll take any pump of adrenaline he can get. He can't help but take a shot at them; can't help but do what he does best.

"Ha, take that you fricken wastes of air! You better run cuz I'm done playing!" Ah, insults and sarcasm, two of his favourite things. Of all the evil spawn he has faced in his screwed up life, he sure as hell isn't going to be taken out by a damn biblical plague!

_"I'm here Dean. I'll get you out." _

Right. Sam's been spouting that same broken record for way too long now. Time to put your money where your mouth is bro or you are gonna be excavating a half eaten slab of Dean-kabob. Christ, his head hurts like a son of a bitch. Definitely not feeling so hot.

Shit. He can hear them. He can feel them on him again. Okay, so first he wanted to pass out and now, as he feels weakness roll through his body and the hammers in his head amp up their crescendo to an almost inconceivable level, that is the last thing he wants. He can't black out cuz if he does, they will win; they will get him, and he'll be at the mercy of douchebags that like to hang out in the fricken sewer.

His breath hitches as the sensation starts again on his temple. He wonders how many more he can maim or kill with his head before it splits in two. Huh, Sam always tells him he's got a thick skull, if only he meant that literally. Shit, he ain't even sure he could do that again. Actually, he's pretty sure one more knock to the noggin and he will be down for the count, and he's not quite ready to give up and let those pansies gnaw into his fricken brain or some shit.

Come on Sam, what the hell is the hold up?

Damn it, death by rats? It really is kinda comical, in an ironic, twisted the hell up kind of way. After all, he's spent his life hunting different kinds of vermin and yet here he is, on the verge of checking out courtesy of some ordinary, run of the mill, average rodents.

Nothing supernatural. Nothing brought back from the dead; no restless spirit or wronged apparition. Just filthy, friggen RATS! Typical. If he wasn't busy trying to buck and shimmy and sashay his way out of this damn rat free-for-all he might actually laugh.

He can almost see the neon sign now. Come on in. It's a Dean Winchester buffet, all you can eat. Fresh meat.

Shit, possibly not the smartest thing to think about if you are trying to remain calm. But come on, those bastards are actually trying to 'snack' on him. That is so not cool you dicks.

_"Dean?"_

Wait. His chest. It feels different; lighter. He can breathe easier and maybe… yahtzee, one hand free. Look out you sons of bitches, the fisted fury is coming your way. He wastes no time; he grabs those bloodsuckers one after another, off of his freakin head no less, and smashes them into the newly formed walls of debris that surround him and into the ground at his side.

He shudders at the absolute grossness of their bodies. They may not be slimy, but they ain't nowhere near luxurious either. Huh, luxurious. That's a funny word. Okay man, keep it together, stay cool. Don't let Sammy see you freak out.

Light. That's light. Either Sam has finally found him or he is gonna see a tunnel soon. Maybe the rats made a meal out of him after all. Huh, yeah right, like that would happen. He's pretty sure that when he does finally bite it, the only thing that will meet him at the end is darkness. He shakes his head in disbelief at how easily he just channelled his inner, emo Sam.

He feels something. Tightness around his leg. He tries to kick it off, those friggen rats are really starting to piss him off. But this is different. This is a grip; a hand. A human hand.

_ "Relax Dean, it's just me. I got you bro."_

He lets his mouth curl into a broad smile as he forgets all about the hairy pieces of crap he has gotten to know way too intimately; as he concentrates on the strength he gets from that touch; as he is tethered back to reality and the promise of freedom.

_"I'm letting go for a minute Dean."_

He can't stop his body as it tenses up at that.

_"Relax man, you don't wanna stay in there all day do you?"_

A couple taps on his leg and Sam's hand is gone.

It's okay, just breathe, Sam is here. He keeps the smile in place right up until the moment his world explodes in pain, as a light so intense seems to burn right through his damn retinas.

"Christ! Son of a bitch."

"Jesus Dean, can't do anything half assed can you?"

The sounds that echo around him now are music to his ears. A painful screech here, a life ending squawk there. Stupid rats. Say hello to my not so little friend Sam.

He blinks slowly to allow his eyes to adjust to the light. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Now that the excitement has ended he feels spent, the adrenaline leaving his body in fast order. All he wants to do is sleep.

"Dean? You doing okay?"

He looks up and Sam is there, towering over him like some kind of long haired giant. He can see a glow trickle out from behind him as he forms a human shield to protect him from the piercing brightness. Huh, what do you know, it looks like a freakin halo.

Damn, maybe this is Heaven after all.

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><p><strong>The End. Feel free to send me your thoughts on this chapter andor the story as a whole! Thanks for stopping by, I hope you enjoyed! :D**


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